dear KATE,
most of the time i'm not really sure what i'm doing. what The Work is and is not. it all feels like The Work to me. it all feels like a world i'm creating, like a world i'm mustering- me and my spills of ink.
language is a crazy thing. and writing. and poetry. i'm not even sure if poetry is what i write. what are these snippets that come out of me? these fragments of a life, of a human being, of wishes and dreams.
sometimes i feel like maybe i'm doing something wrong by giving away so much of my writing here on the BLOG. i worry that i'm going about all this the wrong way and that i should actively try for "real" publication, that i'm somehow selling myself short by not trying to be published. i'm just too impatient for all that at this point in my life. i like the instant connection. i like the rush of blood.
i kinda hate the word BLOG too. i definitely hate the word BLOGGER. i do not title myself as such. i tend not to think of this space in those terms. like you, i see it as a notebook. or better yet, as the white cube. i see it as a gallery space that is entirely open to hosting any performance, any image i want to display. in some ways, this is definitely where the real work is done. or, at least, begins. some of the best writing i've ever done is nestled here, in electric light, lost in the backward reaching scroll of the blog format. i don't know if i will ever go back and fish them out from the messy wad of text i've coughed up here. maybe one day i'll be strong enough for that. maybe one day i'll be Writer enough for that. i'm so impressed with you for being able to do it and i can't wait to read Heroines.
but for all my worry and ambivalence, i'm delighted by this little playground of mine. these games of identity. the shifting nature of the Self reinforced by the shifting nature of language. words make the world. we build our own images. we erect our own mirrors, our own temples, our own sloppy signs. not everything is accurate and maybe it doesn't need to be?
for a long time i was obsessed by the idea of accuracy. i wanted to be as accurate as possible. needed to be. otherwise, i felt like a liar. then one day, i noticed the difference between accuracy and honesty and i chose to move in the direction of honesty instead. sometimes fogginess, sloppiness, sketchiness is the most honest expression there is. the diary. there's something about it that is so barbed, so dangerous. the
potential for danger, the potential for making a mess, the probability
that a mess will be made is so attractive... the taboo of keeping
secrets, the danger inherent to teaching females how to read and write.
who knows what the bitch might say? i don't want to be calm. i don't want to be measured. at least not when it comes to writing and not when it comes to art and
definitely not when it comes to my own life. sometimes i think my diary is the best work i have ever done. it is
where everything begins. all my work starts there, on the cool blue
lines of my private notebook. it is my life's work. daily, i reach for
my pen and, daily, i tell the truth. it isn't an easy thing to do. to
tell the truth, i mean. especially about myself. there are times when
the mirror i create in the pages of my diary is quite brutal. i have
felt such massive shame. but it is a necessary and good thing. i could
only watch myself write the same words over and over for so long before i
had to act, before i had to cry out against the life i had allowed to
spring up all around me, before i had to cut it down. i cut it down
with my pen. i cut it down with your books by my bedside.
anais nin's diary changed my life. it's still changing my life. we've talked about her so many times- her undeniable courage and dedication. i think of her when i get afraid. i think of her when i don't feel equal to the challenges in front of me. i think of her laying in bed with her diary, the same way i lay with mine, scribbling a world in to existence. a world she needed, a world she preferred. i think you're right that she would've kept a blog.
it is brave work you do. your example has
helped me become capable of my own bravery. and not just bravery on the
page either. if it has been your Work this year, i am thankful to have had access to it. the world you are building encourages my faith. i read your words and gather strength.
all my love,
angela
Showing posts with label blog love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blog love. Show all posts
Oct 9, 2012
Mar 1, 2011
dear kate
originally a comment left here.
i wrote of you the other day on my blog. like rebecca, i read here every day too. i miss you on days you don't post. like a junkie. entirely selfish for my fix. that is the way i miss your writing.
but i am blasted apart lately. shrapnel in the air. that is what i am. that is why it is so hard for me to leave comments on other people's blogs for the passed few months. that is why it is so hard for me to fall in to a rhythm here on my own blog. i am shrapnel. or space junk. colliding. not falling. nothing has fallen back down to earth yet. everything is suspended and staring and sharp-edged. i don't know what this means for me except massive change. i know the change, eventually, will be Good. i know you know this road.
so many things seem unreal. in the Baudrillard sense of the word. the fucking Matrix. all a farce.
real things: nail polish (i'm sort of sorry i keep talking about the stuff but not really. there is something life-affirming, not to mention Girl-Affirming, about it and i need that right now.), wild hair, art, books, cool shoes, music, poems, diaries. and the need to be alone long enough to stake some sort of claim to myself. that's been big on the list lately. i've been spending so much time off on my own, involved in my notebook and studying and making things... it is a hunt for identity maybe. or a way to find the new dings and cracks. or a way to establish a new identity. this new self. this status of Non-Daughter. or is it Anti-Daughter? i have an entire rant about this in my notebook which might end up in public soon.
sometimes i worry about what i share here. sometimes i am embarrassed and worry myself sick that i have said too much.
i've had those same humiliating discussions about jobs and money. they are so horrible and so damaging. they have reduced me to a tearful mess on so many occasions. so few family members will ever understand the sacrifice of Life Style for the chance to be an artist. keep writing as much as you can. and i love the image i have of you writing and reading in those "train wreck" dresses. that sentence of yours: I've decided lately I want to have the personal aesthetic of a train wreck. ah, i know this and i love it and it made me smile so damn wide when i read it. it made me feel proud of you. there is bravery in it. bravery is always worth more than fearlessness. so much more. and always will be.
i've been working on dressing like a gothy patti smith. patti smith back in the days of being a kid with mappelthorpe and Fuck The Clock and all that bit. white t-shirt, black pants, cool dirty shoes. but i'm also working on being brave enough to wear insanely bright red lipstick. i'm trying to become the sort of girl who can do that and not feel self-conscious. i'm trying to go from a naked mouth to a painfully red one. it's pretty jarring. i wear it around the house and my sweetie does a double-take and says "that's really bright". i respond "that means it's cool" and leave the conversation there.
i have a valentine for you. i am horribly late this year, i know. but it is here in an envelope and i promise to get it to the post-office today. i'm such a fucking jerk sometimes. sometimes it's hard to get much done. sometimes the simplest task - going to the post-office - presents itself as such a huge, daunting, unbelievably high hurdle. it's ridiculous. this is sadness and the related selfishness, i guess. i hate it.
my fingernails are silver. gold at your tips makes me smile and feel close to you. i keep buying books you've recommended so that i can be a smarter, better, more connected, more sensitive artist... a better human being.
the other day as i was walking across campus i saw the huge banner stretched across the library that read WOMEN'S HISTORY MONTH! i thought... do we still need a month dedicated to us like this? and then i looked at the swarms of 19 and 20 year old boys i was trying to make my way through, a sea of boners, and sadly realized that yes, we still do.
when you're doing readings for Green Girl i hope you can come to san francisco. i want to see you in your dresses and go to the SFMOMA with you.
and then you said this:
I am also realizing in terms of my communication of the self here, and in private, in public and in private, all in an attempt to have a community, I do not really articulate the nature of my depression, my apartness, my solitude, and I still even though I have formed friendships of a sort through this do not understand the texture of anyone else's suffering. Because when we see each other or write each other we always speak around it. So how do I really reveal myself at all? I have one friend who I write my depression to, and she writes hers back to me. Like sliding notes underneath the door.
tis a call to action that i take very seriously. i'm trying to do better. to be more willing to risk everything in order to reveal the texture, as you say. i want to be able to do it. and i need to.
to echo rebecca again... i learn so much from you.
<3
i wrote of you the other day on my blog. like rebecca, i read here every day too. i miss you on days you don't post. like a junkie. entirely selfish for my fix. that is the way i miss your writing.
but i am blasted apart lately. shrapnel in the air. that is what i am. that is why it is so hard for me to leave comments on other people's blogs for the passed few months. that is why it is so hard for me to fall in to a rhythm here on my own blog. i am shrapnel. or space junk. colliding. not falling. nothing has fallen back down to earth yet. everything is suspended and staring and sharp-edged. i don't know what this means for me except massive change. i know the change, eventually, will be Good. i know you know this road.
so many things seem unreal. in the Baudrillard sense of the word. the fucking Matrix. all a farce.
real things: nail polish (i'm sort of sorry i keep talking about the stuff but not really. there is something life-affirming, not to mention Girl-Affirming, about it and i need that right now.), wild hair, art, books, cool shoes, music, poems, diaries. and the need to be alone long enough to stake some sort of claim to myself. that's been big on the list lately. i've been spending so much time off on my own, involved in my notebook and studying and making things... it is a hunt for identity maybe. or a way to find the new dings and cracks. or a way to establish a new identity. this new self. this status of Non-Daughter. or is it Anti-Daughter? i have an entire rant about this in my notebook which might end up in public soon.
sometimes i worry about what i share here. sometimes i am embarrassed and worry myself sick that i have said too much.
i've had those same humiliating discussions about jobs and money. they are so horrible and so damaging. they have reduced me to a tearful mess on so many occasions. so few family members will ever understand the sacrifice of Life Style for the chance to be an artist. keep writing as much as you can. and i love the image i have of you writing and reading in those "train wreck" dresses. that sentence of yours: I've decided lately I want to have the personal aesthetic of a train wreck. ah, i know this and i love it and it made me smile so damn wide when i read it. it made me feel proud of you. there is bravery in it. bravery is always worth more than fearlessness. so much more. and always will be.
i've been working on dressing like a gothy patti smith. patti smith back in the days of being a kid with mappelthorpe and Fuck The Clock and all that bit. white t-shirt, black pants, cool dirty shoes. but i'm also working on being brave enough to wear insanely bright red lipstick. i'm trying to become the sort of girl who can do that and not feel self-conscious. i'm trying to go from a naked mouth to a painfully red one. it's pretty jarring. i wear it around the house and my sweetie does a double-take and says "that's really bright". i respond "that means it's cool" and leave the conversation there.
i have a valentine for you. i am horribly late this year, i know. but it is here in an envelope and i promise to get it to the post-office today. i'm such a fucking jerk sometimes. sometimes it's hard to get much done. sometimes the simplest task - going to the post-office - presents itself as such a huge, daunting, unbelievably high hurdle. it's ridiculous. this is sadness and the related selfishness, i guess. i hate it.
my fingernails are silver. gold at your tips makes me smile and feel close to you. i keep buying books you've recommended so that i can be a smarter, better, more connected, more sensitive artist... a better human being.
the other day as i was walking across campus i saw the huge banner stretched across the library that read WOMEN'S HISTORY MONTH! i thought... do we still need a month dedicated to us like this? and then i looked at the swarms of 19 and 20 year old boys i was trying to make my way through, a sea of boners, and sadly realized that yes, we still do.
when you're doing readings for Green Girl i hope you can come to san francisco. i want to see you in your dresses and go to the SFMOMA with you.
and then you said this:
I am also realizing in terms of my communication of the self here, and in private, in public and in private, all in an attempt to have a community, I do not really articulate the nature of my depression, my apartness, my solitude, and I still even though I have formed friendships of a sort through this do not understand the texture of anyone else's suffering. Because when we see each other or write each other we always speak around it. So how do I really reveal myself at all? I have one friend who I write my depression to, and she writes hers back to me. Like sliding notes underneath the door.
tis a call to action that i take very seriously. i'm trying to do better. to be more willing to risk everything in order to reveal the texture, as you say. i want to be able to do it. and i need to.
to echo rebecca again... i learn so much from you.
<3
Dec 10, 2010
"we are already ghosts"
her last post, very much a memento mori, bring shivers and shakes and that familiar, sad pull of helplessness. the hum in the back of your throat, the unanswerable why? i found out from rebecca yesterday that poet cami park has died. the news made my hands shake. i valued her and her work and her presence her in blogland. she and i had corresponded a few times and i sent her one of my prints and she had blogged about my work... i really, truly, deeply liked her. i wanted to know her better...
rebecca wrote a shivering post about cami's death. and then this morning, another post reminding us that the connections we make here in this strange world of text and light are just as real as the connections we make in the physical realm. maybe even more real, more true sometimes.
all these reminders recently of mortality, the shortness of time, the quickness, the rush, the spin. and illness. the tragedies that find us all, unbeckoned and unapologetic. my heart tears to pieces for her daughter. for her friends and family. for anyone who knew her and respected her. this, as winter rolls in. colder now because of her loss.
time is short. too short not to make as much art as you can and as many poems as you can and to fling these loves and fears and questions in to the world. too short to give too much of a fuck what others might say. do your best and GO.
i carry the sweet girl's name and words with me today, tonight, and on and on.
rebecca wrote a shivering post about cami's death. and then this morning, another post reminding us that the connections we make here in this strange world of text and light are just as real as the connections we make in the physical realm. maybe even more real, more true sometimes.
all these reminders recently of mortality, the shortness of time, the quickness, the rush, the spin. and illness. the tragedies that find us all, unbeckoned and unapologetic. my heart tears to pieces for her daughter. for her friends and family. for anyone who knew her and respected her. this, as winter rolls in. colder now because of her loss.
time is short. too short not to make as much art as you can and as many poems as you can and to fling these loves and fears and questions in to the world. too short to give too much of a fuck what others might say. do your best and GO.
i carry the sweet girl's name and words with me today, tonight, and on and on.
Mar 10, 2010
a bit more sunshine
also, i wanted to take a moment to thank the blog-o-sphere for not only giving me a space to work out my ideas, but for exposing me to new ideas and perspectives that i might not have stumbled across otherwise. i find myself right smack in the middle of such a wonderful and twisting education as a result. i've found so many thoughtful artists and writers and thinkers. i've been turned on to authors and poets and artists that i didn't know of prior to really attempting to engage in a daily blogging practice. and the more i read and think and wrestle, the more well-rounded i feel... and that feeling is very happy. i've got quite the reading list complied and just feel so thankful that this space we're in, whatever it is, is very much like a classroom. sometimes it gets heated, sometimes arguments erupt, but the struggle itself is good. i feel more and more inspired and excited simply by taking the time to read the thoughts and opinions and research of others. and to all the people who leave comments, whether it be here or on other blogs, i really appreciate your insights too. sometimes a comment spins my entire perspective around and i can see very clearly the thing i've overlooked inside my own thinking. and i'm very thankful for those moments. i think education, in whatever form it comes in, is a wonderful thing. it definitely isn't easy sometimes, especially when a clash of ideals happens, but even those instances give me pause- room to really consider what my personal/artistic philosophy is and where it comes from... and if it needs to be amended. it does need to be challenged ever now and then in order to grow.
i'm choosing to leave my embarrassing posts up for awhile... especially the ones in which my fervor or empathy or passion may have run a bit wild and i turned away from seeing the grey areas of life. i'm leaving them up for now as a way to chart my own learning, my own growth in terms of building a more open mind, a more inclusive set of ideals and approaches to the world. i do truly want to be as compassionate and thoughtful as i possibly can. it's a big priority. sometimes i get really embarrassed over not having all the answers and that's just something i'm going to have to get over. ha!
all this to say- THANK YOU for participating in my education! thank you for writing and commenting and struggling with ideas too. i learn so much from you. :)
i'm choosing to leave my embarrassing posts up for awhile... especially the ones in which my fervor or empathy or passion may have run a bit wild and i turned away from seeing the grey areas of life. i'm leaving them up for now as a way to chart my own learning, my own growth in terms of building a more open mind, a more inclusive set of ideals and approaches to the world. i do truly want to be as compassionate and thoughtful as i possibly can. it's a big priority. sometimes i get really embarrassed over not having all the answers and that's just something i'm going to have to get over. ha!
all this to say- THANK YOU for participating in my education! thank you for writing and commenting and struggling with ideas too. i learn so much from you. :)
Dec 15, 2009
WARNING: BIG TIME SENTIMENTALIT-TEE-HEE!
dog sleeping, sky beginning to pale, me and my coffee alone together in the quiet. these mornings are a luxury. i won't always have such freedoms. but for now, i can work to enjoy them and appreciate them as much as i possibly can, to use them with honor and diligence and wide-open gratitude... to pay attention to the sweet nudges i receive, the support and encouragement that come my way to reassure me that i've done even a small amount of good.
yesterday i shipped a drawing to a woman who buys art instead of toys for her two boys. 2 and 4 and already endowed with definite tastes! ha! and i can't tell you how much love spilled in to my heart when i learned of this sweet family. so much love it is still spilling out, overflowing in to the rest of the day, the sphere, the small walls that contain my life. art and stockings. that's the christmas tradition. and her children are on fire with excitement and happiness for these things. these beautiful and heart-felt things. what an awesome wonder. what a gentle reminder than art matters and flourishes and that there are people who know its value, who except beauty in to their lives, who bring it home with them and cherish it and allow it to work its magic. and the last Lineage canvas at the gallery is gone. off to a new and good home. and every now and then i get to hear the stories why people buy the art they buy and most of the time it has nothing to do with whether or not it matches the couch. i am touched and humbled and full of appreciation. a woman whom i've never met took a painting home with her because it touched her heart, it "represents the under-represented" and hit very close to home, and i can't tell you how i cried to know that someone got it, saw it, knew it! that someone feels the same way, sees the same need in the world, cares for them and knows that struggle. oh, i am overflowing! i am shaken. to the red center of my heart, i shake! blessings coming in from all sides these days! everywhere! everything!
and my conversation with rebecca, full of laughter and giggling and genuine love for art and knowledge and words and connection. such an amazing gift! an amazing friend! an amazing woman who cajoles words in to music, makes them dance and cry and quake. and my heart quakes along with them. shuddering and trembling and becoming devout. poetry. and through her, her work, her generosity of spirit, her unwavering belief in the importance of words, of art, i get better. i learn and become more sensitive, more courageous, more in tune. what a gift! what a pleasure! what an undeserved, unearned miracle.
and with this comes along a little network of amazing writers. good people who are kind and humble and hard-working. good writers who spill their hearts and the pools they leave for me to fall in to are gorgeous and heart-breaking. i am, day by day, amazing by the connections that have come about by simply maintaining this blog. the unique, beautiful web of people and art that is being spun, that is growing, that gets deeper each day, more and more solid, more and more stunning, more and more important and lovely. blessings coming in from all sides, indeed!
and another rebecca got married. got a solo show. got a whole new adventure for herself lined up. i'm heading out to the city today for a slumber party/ painting session. talking and talking and talking the whole time, we two funny shut-ins. ha! and maybe we'll leave the house for a minute for food but maybe not. we'll rest in our friendship and silliness and enjoy this day together and all the wonderful moments it contains. in school, i'd always lug my paintings over to her studio so we could work together. we'll make our own little deja vu, our own cute little flash-back, blast to the past.
this year is ending on such a high note. so high, in fact, it makes me appreciate the trials that preceded it. the silver-lining is sparkling so brightly it's impossible not to gaze at it. it's impossible not to stare in to the bright core of it til my eyes well up and all i see is the tremendous wealth of things i have to be endlessly grateful for and entirely surprised by.
yesterday i shipped a drawing to a woman who buys art instead of toys for her two boys. 2 and 4 and already endowed with definite tastes! ha! and i can't tell you how much love spilled in to my heart when i learned of this sweet family. so much love it is still spilling out, overflowing in to the rest of the day, the sphere, the small walls that contain my life. art and stockings. that's the christmas tradition. and her children are on fire with excitement and happiness for these things. these beautiful and heart-felt things. what an awesome wonder. what a gentle reminder than art matters and flourishes and that there are people who know its value, who except beauty in to their lives, who bring it home with them and cherish it and allow it to work its magic. and the last Lineage canvas at the gallery is gone. off to a new and good home. and every now and then i get to hear the stories why people buy the art they buy and most of the time it has nothing to do with whether or not it matches the couch. i am touched and humbled and full of appreciation. a woman whom i've never met took a painting home with her because it touched her heart, it "represents the under-represented" and hit very close to home, and i can't tell you how i cried to know that someone got it, saw it, knew it! that someone feels the same way, sees the same need in the world, cares for them and knows that struggle. oh, i am overflowing! i am shaken. to the red center of my heart, i shake! blessings coming in from all sides these days! everywhere! everything!
and my conversation with rebecca, full of laughter and giggling and genuine love for art and knowledge and words and connection. such an amazing gift! an amazing friend! an amazing woman who cajoles words in to music, makes them dance and cry and quake. and my heart quakes along with them. shuddering and trembling and becoming devout. poetry. and through her, her work, her generosity of spirit, her unwavering belief in the importance of words, of art, i get better. i learn and become more sensitive, more courageous, more in tune. what a gift! what a pleasure! what an undeserved, unearned miracle.
and with this comes along a little network of amazing writers. good people who are kind and humble and hard-working. good writers who spill their hearts and the pools they leave for me to fall in to are gorgeous and heart-breaking. i am, day by day, amazing by the connections that have come about by simply maintaining this blog. the unique, beautiful web of people and art that is being spun, that is growing, that gets deeper each day, more and more solid, more and more stunning, more and more important and lovely. blessings coming in from all sides, indeed!
and another rebecca got married. got a solo show. got a whole new adventure for herself lined up. i'm heading out to the city today for a slumber party/ painting session. talking and talking and talking the whole time, we two funny shut-ins. ha! and maybe we'll leave the house for a minute for food but maybe not. we'll rest in our friendship and silliness and enjoy this day together and all the wonderful moments it contains. in school, i'd always lug my paintings over to her studio so we could work together. we'll make our own little deja vu, our own cute little flash-back, blast to the past.
this year is ending on such a high note. so high, in fact, it makes me appreciate the trials that preceded it. the silver-lining is sparkling so brightly it's impossible not to gaze at it. it's impossible not to stare in to the bright core of it til my eyes well up and all i see is the tremendous wealth of things i have to be endlessly grateful for and entirely surprised by.
Nov 23, 2009
Jul 27, 2009
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